


Hazardous Area

by Theoroark



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Missing Scene, Motorcycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23267269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theoroark/pseuds/Theoroark
Summary: McCree can't figure out how to ride a motorcycle, Ashe wants to figure out where her damn motorcycle is. Both turn to their local lesbians for help.
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe & Sombra | Olivia Colomar, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 19
Kudos: 53





	Hazardous Area

**Author's Note:**

> Implied Spiderbyte, as well as Ashe/Akande.

Fareeha and Angela don’t get calls from McCree often. Normally he shoots them texts- an open-ended “saw you got a promotion” sort of thing usually, a total lack of commitment that leaves the ball fully in their court. When he does call, Fareeha can tell it’s usually because he’s bored shitless, a little buzzed in some dirty hotel room, killing time before the heat’s off him and he can slink out of wherever he is. He never talks about anything substantial, what he’s doing or how he’s doing. And he certainly never asks for help. 

So when he does call one day, and he does ask for her help, Fareeha thinks it must be a big deal. So much so that she grabs Angela and flies out to the Helix base in Grand Mesa that night. The two of them trade shifts driving until they get to the run down gas station McCree’s marked as his location. 

It’s quiet when they get there. Just the heat rolling down from Deadlock gorge, over the empty expanse of highway. The gas pumps are hanging and there’s no movement in the station. 

Fareeha exchanges a glance with Angela, who looks just as worried as Fareeha feels. Fareeha grabs her sidearm with one hand and her phone with the other. She types out a text without looking. 

>We’re at the spot. Where are you?

“Here.” Angela yelps and Fareeha whips the pistol around. McCree holds his hands up, not breaking his saunter out from behind the counter. “Sorry ‘bout that. Just–“

“Are we in danger?” Angela interrupts. Fareeha keeps her eyes trained on Jesse as she lowers her gun. He shakes his head vehemently. 

“You’re the first people I’ve seen in a couple days. Nice to see you, by the way.”

“Likewise,” Angela says. “You always take us to the nicest places.”

Jesse rolls his eyes at Angela, who rolls them back. Normally Fareeha’s happy to let their regression to teenage buddies continue apace, but her nerves are still rattled and Jesse’s easy demeanor hasn’t made her forget he needs help. “What’s going on?” she asks. 

“Oh. Yeah.” McCree trots past them, shoulder checking Angela as he does. She shoves his back as the two women exit the station with him, and stand before a lumpy tarp. McCree pulls the tarp off with what must have been an attempt at a flourish, but merely succeeds in dumping dust all over his pants. 

Fareeha draws in a sharp breath. What he’s revealed is a bike. A massive, beautiful bike. A Stabler Cruiser, top of the line model. The kind of suspension that would let you drive down Route 66 for hours, feeling all the world like you were sitting in an easy chair the whole time. Despite the omnipresent grit in the desert, its classic design is gleaming black and silver. Fareeha glances over at an ambivalent Angela and for a moment, can’t determine what’s the more beautiful thing she’s seen. 

“It’s broken,” McCree says. That snaps Fareeha out of her daze. 

“What? What did you do?”

“What makes you think I did something?!”

“It’s your bike, isn’t it?” Fareeha asks. McCree lets his mouth hang open as he looks up to the overhang. Fareeha narrows her eyes. “You absolutely did not bring me here to fix a stolen bike, right?”

“No!” McCree says. Angela sidles up beside Fareeha, looking just as skeptical, and he shrinks in on himself slightly. 

“Why were you hiding it, then?” Angela asks. “And why were you hiding?”

“It wasn’t– I wasn’t–“ McCree sighs. Angela and Fareeha wait, entirely too long as he leans against the station wall and frets. 

“I didn’t steal it from anyone who would get you in trouble with the law if they knew you helped me,” he says finally. When Fareeha and Angela just look more tired at that, he adds, “And no one’s on my trail, and no one’s gonna come lookin’ for it. Anyone who knows I have this has bigger things to worry about right now.”

Angela looks over at Fareeha. And Fareeha knows that’s a completely bullshit answer, that they should press him more, not get involved until they know they’re safe. 

Thing is, she really wants to work on that bike. Angela must read that on her face because she sighs, steps back, and keeps watch as Fareeha kneels down next to the metal. 

“What happened?” Fareeha asks. Jesse kneels next to her, scratching his chin. 

“Got it like, half a mile before it started sputtering and makin’ a weird noise. Got it another half mile before it started slowin’ down, so I stopped here to be safe.” He looks over at Fareeha, brow furrowed. “You think it’s broken already? I mean, easy come easy go and all, but I was kind of hopin’–“

“You had the parking brake on.”

Jesse stares at her blankly. Fareeha pushes up a pedal. “Oh,” he says quietly. “So it’s good to go, then?”

“Yeah. Help me get it on our truck.”

“Wh–“ It takes Jesse a moment to realize what she means but when he does, his face scrunches up with indignation. “You can’t just take it! I got it, fa–“ Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “I got it!”

“Tell you what, Jesse,” Fareeha says. “If you can drive this thing off the property without my help, you can keep it.”

It takes all three of them, but they get the motorcycle into the back of the Helix truck. They stop at a roadside bar on the way back, make fun of Jesse’s pout as they fail to get drunk on bad beer. He refuses their offer to fly back to Cairo with them. Fareeha glances over her shoulder as she leaves and sees him with his hat on the bar, ordering a whiskey. She feels a little bad, leaving him there. 

But she feels real good about that bike. 

-

Sombra’s gotten some kind of used to Ashe’s presence on the Talon base. She still doesn’t like it, exactly. Ashe is funny enough. But when Ashe is around Akande’s around more, and Akande one of the few people who can spot her schemes before it’s too late. And Widow’s not the possessive type. But when Ashe talks to Sombra when Widow’s around, Widow has a tendency to loop her arm around Sombra’s waist and give Ashe a contented smile. The kind of smile that reminds Sombra of Widow’s expression right before she pulls the trigger. 

Neither Ashe nor Sombra are the kind of person to give a shit that the others’ an ex. That’s not the headache. Ashe causes complications, is the thing. Sombra likes to know what’s going on, and Ashe has a habit of making things a bit more unpredictable. 

Like when Ashe stops by Sombra’s office one day, steps over the discarded energy drink cans with just a judgmental look, and announces, “I want to hire you.”

Sombra spins around and stares. Ashe is straight faced. “Hire me,” Sombra repeats.

“Yeah. What’s your rate?”

“For what? What are you talking about?”

Ashe walks over to Sombra’s desk, sweeping off the surface before she leans against it. “You hack shit, right?” she says.

“I have hacked, on occasion.”

“And you find people and their shit,” Ashe continues. Sombra nods. “Well. I need you to find something of mine.” 

Sombra sighs, pushing her chair back away from her desk and Ashe. “Can’t you just get Akande to do this?” she asks.

“He’s not the finder. You are.” Ashe frowns at her. “I thought you’d be happy, getting to make a couple bucks.”

“I’m not broke anymore, Ashe.”

“Sure act like it still.” Ashe meaningfully stares at a bowl with cereal milk stagnant inside it. Sombra rolls her eyes.

“Tell me the job. Then I’ll tell you if I’ll take it.”

Ashe smiles and leans back. “Y’know how Jesse McCree tore up a Deadlock operation, couple months back?”

“Is that what happened? Akande told me you ran him off.”

Ashe ignores her. “Asshole stole my bike. I want it back.” Ashe pulls out her holovid and hands it to Sombra. It shows a picture of Ashe leaning against a long, low motorcycle, giving the camera a smouldering look. Sombra sends the picture to her computer monitor and avoids eye contact with either Ashe. “I got the license plate or whatever, too. Can you find it based off that?”

“I don’t think the bike will be as easy to track as McCree will be,” Sombra says. She minimizes the picture and pulls up her tab of Overwatch agents, switching the language to Omnic so Ashe can’t read over her shoulder. Then Sombra pauses, and looks over at Ashe. “Do you want me to find him, or…?”

“No,” Ashe says firmly. Then she shakes her head. “I mean– not like that. If that’s how you meant it. I just want my damn bike, Sombra.”

They’ve just gotten to a place where things aren’t that awkward. Sombra isn’t inclined to drag them back, not when Ashe is telling the truth and she can guess the details well enough. Sombra just nods and clicks through McCree’s file. She’s been keeping an eye on him on and off for a minute now, and she doesn’t remember seeing him on any bike. A closer review of the time frame Ashe’s given her doesn’t help either. Sombra frowns.

“He’s traveling internationally a lot,” she says. “Is there somewhere he would stash it? Or if he is taking it with him, some particular occasion he would pull it out for?”

Ashe shrugs. “Fuck if I know. And he was always shit at riding, anyway.” She snorts out a laugh. “Always had to ride on mine with me. Don’t know why he even wanted mine so bad.”

Sombra flips through McCree’s file, processing that. Then her gaze wanders to the Overwatch folder. She smiles, clicks in, and selects a couple agents and associates.

She comes up empty with Oxton. But Sombra’s second guess, Ashe spots the bike in the picture right as she does, and gasps. Ashe leans in, eyes narrowed.

“Who the fuck is she?” Ashe asks. Sombra stares at Fareeha Amari, the huddled form of Angela Ziegler behind her, and sighs.

“She’s the reason you’re going to have to pay me a helluva lot more than if this were just McCree.”

-

It takes a while. Angela keeps muttering things about head trauma under her breath. But with some cajoling, Fareeha gets Angela to ride on the bike with her. And after a couple morning commutes, Angela’s smiling when she pulls off her helmet and runs her fingers through her hair.

“It’s a lot faster than driving,” Angela admits. Fareeha grins.

“And it’s fun too. Right?”

Angela hums but can’t seem to bring herself to stop smiling. Especially not when Fareeha kisses her.

The other bikes, Fareeha hadn’t pushed her on. But this bike is so damn good, Fareeha just has to take Angela on rides with her. Not doing so seems criminal. It would be like if Fareeha had walked by a sale of Angela’s favorite chocolate-roast coffee. If she had picked Belgian chocolates over Swiss for her Valentine’s Day sampler. Angela might never have known what she was missing out on. But Fareeha would. And Fareeha loves Angela too much to do that for her.

Fareeha suspects it might not just be the ride. It also helps that Angela always grabs Fareeha by the leather jacket when she comes home now, pulling her close and kissing her deeply. In any case, Fareeha doesn’t exactly feel like complaining.

They’ve had the bike for a few months now, and there have been any issues with it. So Angela claims to not understand why Fareeha spends her weekends working on it, in the tiny garage under their condo that also houses Fareeha’s cheap, now-neglected motorbike. But even if she doesn’t understand, Angela seems to have no qualms about sitting on the garage’s stoop and watching Fareeha work on the bike, wearing a tank top and getting sweaty. 

“Are you almost done?” Angela asks. Her chin is resting on her hands as she stares at Fareeha’s back. It’s dusk, and Angela came to the garage after she finished her paperwork with a cup of tea, like she does when their favorite TV show is on. Fareeha would call her out, but she imagines she looks much the same when Angela’s lecturing a group of medical students who’ve just fucked up a simple IV.

“Almost,” Fareeha says. “Just want to check the tire pressure.” Angela hums and grabs the first instrument she sees within arm’s reach, and holds the bicycle pump out to Fareeha. Fareeha rolls her eyes and goes to her workbench to grab the gauge.

When she gets there, though, a shadow crosses the window. Somebody’s walking just outside the garage. It could be a neighbor getting pulled to close by their dog. It could be a mailperson coming at an odd hour. But then a second shadow passes by and while Fareeha could come up with explanations for that too, she can’t deny the feeling in her gut. There’s something in their gait or their silhouette. 

Fareeha opens a desk drawer and puts a hand on her pistol. Behind her, she hears Angela stand up. Neither of them say anything, just warily watch the entrances. Neither of them moves as the garage door creaks open.

Standing in the doorway is a woman with white hair and red eyes and an outfit that would be ridiculous, if Fareeha hadn’t become inured to that kind of ridiculous a while back. She’s cradling a rifle and doesn’t blink when Fareeha points the gun at her. “You have something of mine,” the woman says.

Fareeha thinks frantically, and a side glance at Angela reveals that her girlfriend is doing the same. The two of them try to keep business and home separate. The only Overwatch tech Angela still has access to is what she developed herself, and the woman doesn’t seem like the Overwatch type anyway. All of Fareeha’s Helix equipment is on base. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fareeha says, steadily and honestly. The woman snorts.

“Please. You know Jesse well as I do. Even if he didn’t tell you, you know he’d never get a bike just for himself.”

“You know McCree?” Angela says, behind Fareeha. The woman frowns.

“Yeah. I’m– it’s Ashe.” Fareeha and Angela stare at her blankly. “Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe? From Deadlock?”

“Jesse didn’t talk about his past much,” Angela says, in a manner far too delicate to a woman attempting to rob them. Ashe looks irritated anyway, and shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ashe says. “The point is, Jesse stole my bike, and I’m here to take back what’s mine.”

“If you’re Deadlock, I doubt you got that motorcycle through legitimate means anyway,” Angela says. Fareeha frowns and turns to her, surprised at how vehement Angela’s defense has become. She turns back to Ashe just in time to train the pistol at Ashe’s forehead when she takes a step forward.

“What’s mine is mine,” Ashe says. “And that’s a damn good bike. I want it back.”

“No, you don’t,” Angela says

Ashe scowls. “The hell are you talking about?”

“Angie,” Fareeha says in a low voice. “What _are_ you talking about?”

Angela folds her arms and doesn’t say anything. The three stand there in an awkward standoff for a moment, until a woman behind Fareeha says, “Oh, my God.” Fareeha wheels around but spots no one in the direction the voice came from. Her eyes dart. 

“Who’s there?!”

“Ashe,” the voice says, now in a completely different location. “They fucked on your bike.”

Fareeha should investigate their invisible intruder. But Ashe’s eyes widen and then she fixes Fareeha in her stare, and Fareeha is frozen. “Did you?” Ashe demands. 

Fareeha says nothing. Angela coughs. 

“Oh my God,” Ashe says. “Seriously?”

“I mean, I thought Jesse killed whoever had it originally,” Fareeha says, very aware this is the stupidest thing she’s ever gotten defensive over.

“God.” Ashe lowers her rifle and shakes her head. “Nevermind. I’ll just get a new one. Let’s go.”

Angela rushes up to stand beside Fareeha. “You and– you–” Angela looks around for the source of the phantom voice, and finds only a disembodied chuckle. “You’re criminals, and you just tried to rob us! We’re not just going to let you leave!”

“Come on now,” Ashe says. “I let you keep the bike. I didn’t hurt anyone. No harm, no foul, right?”

Fareeha and Angela cross their arms in unison. Ashe sighs. “Right then. Come on. Let’s go.”

There’s a burst of purple light. Every machine in Fareeha’s garage starts shrieking, flashing moving. Fareeha moves to cover Angela and looks up just in time to see another flash of purple, and Ashe disappearing. Then the cacophony stops. 

Fareeha looks around at her garage, which looks like it’s experienced a small earthquake. She looks down at Angela, straightening herself up, unharmed. Fareeha sits down on the ground with a long exhale and after a beat, Angela joins her.

“Are you okay?” Angela asks.

“Yeah. You?” Angela nods. Fareeha turns to the bike. It jolted forward in the brief electronic override but otherwise it seems the same. True to her word, Ashe let it be. “Do you think we should get rid of it?”

“No.” Angela says immediately. Fareeha raises an eyebrow and she bites her lip. “I mean, we don’t have any real reason to right now, right?”

“Yeah, but a couple weeks ago, you wouldn’t have needed one to want to get rid of it.” Angela flushes slightly as Fareeha studies her. “Why the change of heart?”

“It’s fun riding it with you,” Angela says to the floor.

“Is that it?”

“And I just ordered myself a matching leather jacket,” Angela mumbles. Fareeha stares at her, waiting for Angela to crack. Angela does not. Fareeha bursts out laughing.

“Shut up,” Angela says.

“Oh my God,” Fareeha says. “Now I almost wish they took it.” Angela scowls.

“I’d look cute!”

Fareeha wraps an arm around her and though Angela grumbles, she lets herself be pulled into a sidehug. “You’d look very hot,” Fareeha assures her. “I’m just not sure I want to be that tacky yet.”

“So you’re going to let me throw away your short sleeve printed button downs, then?”

Fareeha stands up, pulling her arm off Angela. She starts towards the motorcycle keys in her hand, but lets her escape be arrested by Angela grabbing her and kissing her.

-

The Amari-Ziegler household files a breaking and entering report as Sombra and Ashe are flying back to Rome. Sombra scans through the details, wincing at the pitch-perfect physical description of Ashe, as the intruder in question blithely taps away at her holovid.

“This drew way too much attention,” Sombra mutters. “Doomfist’s going to be so pissed.”

“No, he’s not,” Ashe says, without looking up. “He’s gonna think it’s hilarious.”

“He’s going to think it’s hilarious you did it. He’s going to be pissed I did it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ashe says. Sombra tips her head back and groans. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m [@tacticalgrandma](https://twitter.com/tacticalgrandma) on twitter if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and any comments or kudos would mean the world to me 💜


End file.
